They called themselves “the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood,” a phrase that sounded stuffy even when it was first pronounced in the mid-19th century. The names even of the group’s founders — William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais and Dante Gabriel Rossetti — are not widely known among museumgoers. Yet few artistic movements had so profound an effect on the way we think about art and artists today.

“Truth and Beauty: The Pre-Raphaelites and the Old Masters,” an exhibition at the Legion of Honor that opens Saturday, June 30, pays scant attention to whatever continuing relevance the group may have. It indulges, instead, in the pure visual pleasure of an idiosyncratic style that drew upon the greatest moment in European painting, the dawn of the Renaissance. The show will be on view through Sept. 30.

To observe that remnants of Pre-Raphaelite art are with us today is not to say that artists of later eras paid much attention to their example. Their graphic fascination with nature and their lascivious embrace of ornament relate most closely to the allied Arts and Crafts movement and to Art Nouveau — trends of modern art that, though much beloved, from today’s vantage point appear to have led to sublime dead ends.

And yet, the Pre-Raphaelites’ insatiable appetite for realistic detail, lurid color and, above all, passion for romantic story are deeply ingrained in the public psyche as ideals in art. Their historicist, moralistic pictures had the greatest influence, it would seem, on children’s book illustrators, artists who trade in images that both reflect and shape our fundamental visual literacy. Think of Howard Pyle, N.C. Wyeth and their followers, whose pictures charged the imaginations of successive generations, enlivening adventure books that are still widely read.

Meanwhile, the abundance of beautiful women depicted in moody reverie feeds a popular expectation that art of feeling must be solemn, if not sad. As in today’s movies, pop songs and romance novels, loss and longing generally trump joy.

“Truth and Beauty” injects new life into works that, by reason of such triviality, are often dismissed by art historians. In the presence of the works themselves, however, any sense of emotional shallowness gives way to delight at their quirky technical ingenuity. Strong line and rich color combine in effects that remind us of mosaics. Sure enough, designs for tapestries, stained glass windows and mosaics conclude the exhibition.

The exhibition is remarkable for other reasons, as well. For the first time in a major museum presentation, it takes the Pre-Raphaelite devotion to art historical precedent at face value, showing works from the early Renaissance (“pre-Raphael,” in other words), as well as other key sources, alongside Brotherhood pictures.

It is tempting to say that Sandro Botticelli, whose glorious 15th century “Idealized Portrait of a Lady (Simonetta Vespucci)” introduces one central gallery, is the standout artist of the show. No fewer than five paintings by the master are here, as well as other comparative works by Paolo Veronese, Jan van Eyck and Hans Memling.

Also included is Raphael’s own “Self-Portrait” of 1504-06, a starkly pared-down gem of vulnerability that conveys little of the bravado we see in the works of his 19th century devotees.

The exhibition continues the Legion of Honor’s smart recent turn to use its best resources — excellent curators and a collection with strong highlights — set into broader contexts. The show was organized by Melissa E. Buron, director of the art division of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, of which the Legion is a part. About 30 percent of the works are from the museums, including drawings and other works on paper that are rarely shown, and paintings that look fresh and entirely different in this environment.

Volumes have been written about what the Pre-Raphaelites intended, and the exhibition goes to great pains to try to explain their theoretical principles. What it does best, though, is to demonstrate how little theory had to do with their enterprise, and how quickly its adherents developed individual styles of their own.

For all their proclamations of “truth to nature,” members of the Brotherhood were not above creative distortion. Founder Dante Gabriel Rossetti developed a lovely but peculiar female archetype, with large hands, prominent nose and jawline, and long neck.

Where one artist might focus almost microscopically on, say, certain plants in a painting, women were universally depicted as sultry but distant. In this manner, the Pre-Raphaelite “brother” could have his women both ways — both sensual and spiritual.

Charles Desmarais received the 2017 Rabkin Prize for Visual Arts Journalism and was awarded an Art Critic’s Fellowship by the National Endowment for the Arts in 1979. He spent the years between as an avid lover of art, friend of artists and leader of arts institutions.

Desmarais joined The Chronicle in 2016, having come to the Bay Area in 2011 as President of the San Francisco Art Institute. Prior to his move here, he was Deputy Director for Art at the Brooklyn Museum from 2004 to 2011, where he oversaw 10 curatorial departments, as well as the museum’s education, exhibitions, conservation and library activities.

As a museum director, Desmarais has served at the Contemporary Arts Center, Cincinnati (1995-2004); the Laguna Art Museum (1988-1994); and the California Museum of Photography at the University of California, Riverside (1981-1988).

His extensive experience as an art writer includes articles in Afterimage, American Art, Art in America, California magazine, Grand Street, and elsewhere. He authored a regular column, “On Art,” for the Riverside Press-Enterprise from 1987 to 1988.